


Family is what you make it

by ThebanSacredBand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abandonment, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hogwarts House Sorting, Swearing, don't like it? don't tell me I don't care, hufflepuff Geralt, thats probably the most contentious one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/pseuds/ThebanSacredBand
Summary: The beginning of Geralt Rivia's final year at Hogwarts
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Lambert & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	Family is what you make it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemainofthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my best friend and housemate Nemainofthewater!!!! Love you <3 Hope you enjoy
> 
> As this is a birthday gift, the headcanons for Hogwarts houses are very much our own. I know this is a topic that people very much debate (I don't know if they do in the Witcher fandom but I've seen people do it elsewhere) so I just want to ask that, if you disagree, you _don't_ say anything and either leave it be or write your own. Thank you for understanding <3

“I still can’t believe that Vesemir makes us get the train to Hogwarts. We _fuckin_ ’ live there,” Lambert moans dramatically, knocking his head back against the seat with a sigh.

Geralt scowls at his brother. He’s already in a bad mood about this, and Lambert bitching about it when they’re _already on the Hogwarts express_ isn’t going to make it any better. “’Bout time you got used to it, it’s only our final _fucking_ year.”

“Fuck _off_.” Lambert aims a kick at Geralt’s shins, but Geralt is expecting him and brings his leg up onto his seat. Lambert smashes his toes into the wood beneath. He lets out a harsh stream of swear words, and lunges across the compartment. Eskel slides down the bench out of the way of the ensuing wrestling match.

This turn of events is remarkably similar to every year – well, almost every year. One year the full moon had fallen on the last night of August and as stern as Vesemir was, he wouldn’t force them to take a crowded train so soon after _that_.

So, in any case, this turn of events is remarkably similar to _almost_ every year since they were eleven, when Vesemir had apparated the three of them down to King’s Cross Station and told them that, even though he taught at the school, even though the three of them had _lived_ there ever since he had taken each of them in – which for Geralt was as long as he can remember – he wanted them to have as normal an experience as possible and so they had to get the Hogwarts Express.

They had complained then, and they had fought their annoyance out by wrestling in their compartment, just like they were doing now. The only difference was that when they were younger, all the older students knew the three of them as children and thought they were cute. Now, though, they are seventeen and each reaching six-foot, and the rest of the students leave them well alone.

“Geralt! Hi! Can I join you guys?”

Most of the rest of the students leave them alone, that is.

Geralt pulls away from his brother to see Jaskier hovering the doorway, already changed into his uniform. His _actual_ uniform, complete with green tie rather than whichever tie best suited his mood and accessories of the day. Geralt is fairly certain that Jaskier has at least three of his own yellow ties hidden somewhere among the masses of clothes he always brings to Hogwarts with him.

The now-fourth year had decided, back when he was eleven, that Geralt was going to be his best friend, and the fact that pretty much everyone in the school shied away from the White Wolf and his yellow eyes had only encouraged the younger boy. In fact it was Jaskier who had given him that annoying nickname, which had somehow _stuck_.

“Don’t you have any friends your own age?” Geralt says, at the same time as sitting up properly in his seat and waving Jaskier into the space beside him. He is long since past the point of actively wanting Jaskier to _fuck off and leave him alone_ and, well, he _has_ missed the younger boy. Not that he will ever admit that out loud.

“My friends my own age actually _write_ to me over the summer, _Geralt_ ,” says Jaskier with a dramatic pout, even as he places an oversized instrument case on the bench and slides in beside Geralt. “I haven’t heard from _you_ in _forever_. How are you guys doing?”

Geralt hums, and lets his more talkative brothers actually engage Jaskier in conversation.

Geralt… Geralt hadn’t realised how much he had missed this. Just, leaning back and listening to other people speak. Conversation is stressful a lot of the time, but Jaskier never minds if he doesn’t fully engage in talking. As much as he loves Eskel and Lambert – and he does, truly, they’re as close as brothers can be, even if they aren’t related by blood – but even they haven’t grasped how much Geralt likes _not_ talking quite as well as Jaskier has.

Geralt is sure he will be annoyed at Jaskier for never shutting up before the week is out – or even, perhaps, before they get to Hogwarts in the first place – but for now it’s enough to simply _be_.

“- and then Geralt threatened to apparate himself back to Hogwarts.” Geralt zones back into the conversation in time to hear Lambert, apparently over his previous complaints about the train, relating the argument Geralt had had with Vesemir yesterday. He narrows his eyes at Lambert, who grins lazily at him.

A glance at Jaskier shows him leaning forwards, enraptured in the story. “But he _didn’t_ , obviously. What happened?” Trust Jaskier to get fully invested in _this_ story. Geralt hasn’t fought with Vesemir like this in _years_. He doesn’t know why the old man had been so _insistent_ on it, this year especially. Probably something about it being their last opportunity or something. But _honestly_. It’s just a train.

“Vesemir threatened me with a month’s worth of detentions, and I’d really rather avoid getting into trouble before the year has even _started_ ,” Geralt says, before Lambert can invent anything ridiculous. All three of his companions laugh.

“Oh Geralt, we all know that you’ll have a detention before the end of the first day of classes.”

“You think he’ll last that long, Lambert? No, he’ll be involved in some sort of drama before the end of the welcome feast.”

“Oh, you are _on_ , Pankratz. Five sickles?” Jaskier nods, leaning over to shake Lambert’s hand.

“Don’t be so cruel to Geralt, guys –” pipes up Eskel

“This is why Eskel is my favourite,” Geralt grumbles.

“I’m sure he’ll make it to Friday, at least.” Eskel glances at Geralt, his eye twinkling.

Geralt looks up at the ceiling, as if it holds the answers to his annoying brothers and friends. “I take it back. I hate _all_ of you.”

They do, unfortunately, have a point. Geralt does seem to have an uncanny ability of getting involved in things that he really doesn’t need to, be it defending Renfri from the incessant bullying of the malicious potions master Stregobor or getting between the two squabbling Cintra siblings, siding with Pavetta and her Muggleborn boyfriend over Pavetta’s rather prejudiced older sister Calanthe. There is always _something_ , some injustice, some fight, and Geralt has always been pretty bad at staying out of things.

This year, though. This year is going to be different. It is Geralt’s final year at Hogwarts, and his plan is to get on with his NEWTs, not get into trouble, and avoid everyone else’s drama.

The first inkling Geralt gets that this year might not go quite as smoothly as he had originally hoped for is when he follows the crowd of people walking into the Great Hall and sees a red-headed lady he has never seen before sitting at the staff table. The teachers had been arriving over the past few days, getting their offices and classrooms in order, but Geralt hadn’t heard anything about anyone new joining.

It was probably nothing, except Vesemir normally tells them about new members of staff well in advance of them actually arriving, and Geralt hasn’t heard anything about this. A quick glance shared with Eskel and Lambert as they make their ways over to their separate house tables shows him that they are just as confused as he is. Vesemir doesn’t tend to keep things from them; he used brutal honesty to raise the three young boys who had found themselves under his care in the same way that he did with his students in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

A look at his father shows nothing untoward, or, it wouldn’t, for anyone other Hogwarts student, who only knew Vesemir as the strict Professor Rivia. But Geralt can see the tightness around his eyes, the way his hand was hidden under the table as if to disguise a fist, the fact that he refuses to look anywhere near Geralt himself.

Something isn’t right. But now is not the time. Geralt will have to wait until after the feast to corner Vesemir about it.

He slides onto the bench at the Hufflepuff table, at the end closest to the doors. His fellow students have left the end open for him, as they always do, and give him a wide berth. By the time the last of the students have entered the Great Hall, there shouldn’t really be any space for gaps at the tables, but the Hufflepuffs always manage to find a bit of room to not sit _quite_ next to Geralt.

It’s not overly surprising that they don’t want to get to close. He will always be _other_ , with his white hair and yellow eyes, and, well, the fact that it’s him and his brothers they hear howling in the Forbidden Forest when the moon is full. There are a few who aren’t quite so afraid of him; Eist has a certain level of respect for Geralt in spite of the fact that his girlfriend, the Gryffindor Calanthe, will still happily throw jinxes at Geralt at any possible opportunity, and Jaskier’s friend Essi has no problem making small talk with him.

But, well, even with them taking the seats nearest him, he can’t help but feel lonelier than he had through the months he spent with only his brothers for company. They don’t feel it in quite the same way he does, as far as he can tell. Even now, Lambert is laughing with Renfri and Coën, and Eskel is talking with Triss and a few of the other sixth year Ravenclaws he has managed to befriend, probably about the charms he had been practising over summer.

Geralt does his best not to sigh. It’s fine. They only have to sit at specific tables during formal banquets, and there won’t be another one of those until Halloween. Come tomorrow, he’ll be able to squash in beside Eskel and Lambert and not think about the fact that rest of his own house can’t seem to stand him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice rings across the hall, and Geralt looks over his shoulder at the younger Slytherin. Jaskier waves at him as soon as he sees him turn, and Geralt is surprised to see him sitting next to Yennefer Vengerberg, a sixth year who Geralt may or may not have dated at one time. It was an… interesting time, and it hadn’t ended prettily, but they were friends now.

Probably.

Geralt had been under the impression that Jaskier and Yennefer hated each-other, but apparently they’re close enough that Jaskier is welcome to whisper in her ear. She lets out a loud laugh, before winking at Geralt salaciously.

Geralt feels his stomach heat, but rolls his eyes, turning away. It doesn’t mean anything. They’re probably specifically trying to wind him up.

He means to turn back to his table, but finds himself frozen in place under the stare of the new teacher. Her eyes bore into him, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She looks almost familiar to Geralt, but he can’t remember ever seeing her before.

Borch – Professor Villentretenmerth, as Geralt really ought to call him, now term has started – taps on his glass, and begins his speech welcoming everyone back for the new year, and the first years to their new school. Geralt drags his eyes toward the headmaster and away from the stare of the woman, but he can still feel her gaze burning him.

He does his best to concentrate on the speech, but all he can really think about is the fact that this woman will not stop looking at him. It’s not until the first years are being called up for sorting that he finally becomes aware of what is happening. Specifically, when one specific name is called out:

“Ciri Cintra.”

Merlin’s beard. There’s _another_ one.

The hat shouts out “Gryffindor” almost before it’s been placed on the girls head, and she skips down the aisle to join her sisters, apparently now at a tentative peace. She waves a Geralt when she notices him looking, and Geralt is filled with a sudden feeling of… _something_ , that shoots down to his stomach.

He’s not sure what it is. An urge to protect? A sense of dread? The wings of destiny? Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. Geralt doesn’t want to be too quick to judge this child – let’s face it, she is only eleven – but he doesn’t have high hopes than she’ll be any less dramatic than Calanthe and Pavetta.

Geralt doesn’t bother paying attention to the rest of the sorting ceremony. The new Hufflepuffs mostly all sit in a group at the other end of the table, which is fine, because Geralt isn’t expecting to have anything to do with them.

One of the last to be sorted, a boy with a knit cap on even underneath his pointed wizard’s hat, does come down the table. He probably saw that there was free space down this end, not knowing that there is a _reason_ for that. He freezes when Geralt looks at over at him, and Geralt is half expecting him to run away, but Essi shifts over and makes space for him on the side _not_ next to Geralt, and draws him into a quiet conversation.

“ _He_ doesn’t look like a Hufflepuff…” the new boy whispers, not as quietly as he thinks he’s doing. Or, well, not quietly enough to hide it from a werewolf.

Geralt suppresses a sigh. He can’t help but wish that he didn’t look so frightening, that he didn’t make tiny first years shake just by existing in a space.

“Maybe not,” Essi replies, at the same volume. Geralt can’t tell if she knows that he’s listening. “But he’ll do anything to protect people that are vulnerable. Even when they’re not particularly nice to him. And he won’t let injustice stand. You can trust him.”

Geralt… Geralt wasn’t expecting that. He’s not quite sure how to react. Ever since his own sorting ceremony, most people have viewed his sorting as a mistake. He has friends in the other Houses, but this is _definitely_ not something they talk about, and other Hufflepuffs have always been a bit stand-offish towards him.

But Essi’s comment makes him feel _seen_ , and the tiny first year is now looking at him with something akin to wonder, and Geralt is…

And Geralt is very pleased with the distraction of Borch getting everyone’s attention again. He’ll probably give a quick reminder of the most pressing rules, and then the food will appear, which will give Geralt a good excuse not to communicate with anyone. Also he’s really hungry. He hadn’t realised until just now. But now it’s hit him? Damn. (This is a brilliant distraction for not thinking about things. He should think about food more often).

Borch’s speech is the same as last year, as every year. It’s easy enough for Geralt to mostly tune out, and think about all the food that’s going to arrive soon.

“Finally, I’m sure all you remaining students have noticed a new face at the staff table.” This part is new. Geralt is surprised to find he had almost completely forgotten about the red-headed woman who had been staring at him. She is looking at Borch, now, instead, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. “Our matron, Mother Nenneke, has taken a place as a healer at St Mungo’s.”

And that’s… Vesemir hadn’t mentioned that Nenneke was leaving. Which was especially weird, as Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert probably spent more time with her than most of the rest of the student population combined, being somewhat prone to accidentally scratching themselves and each-other one night a month.

“As such, I would like to introduce you all to out new matron, Lady Visenna.”

The woman smiles at the students, but her eyes lock on Geralt. He isn’t hungry anymore.

In fact, he thinks he might be sick.

He stands up leaves the hall, disregarding Borch still talking, disregarding the hundreds of eyes that must surely be staring at him.

He leaves and he does not look back.

It is Vesemir who finds him, eventually. Not that he is hard to find. He went back to his childhood bedroom, in the private suite of rooms that Borch had set aside for Vesemir when Visenna had dumped Geralt with him when he was only a few months old. Geralt had grown up in these rooms and in the corridors of Hogwarts. He had no memories of any parent other than Vesemir.

Vesemir had always been frank with Geralt. He wasn’t his biological father. He didn’t know _who_ his biological father was, other than that he was almost certainly a werewolf himself, given that Geralt had transformed from such a young age. Given that his eyes and hair were so unnatural-looking.

His mother was called Visenna, and she had once been a student of Vesemir’s, when he was just starting out teaching. She had apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, demanding to see Vesemir, and when he arrived she said that taking care of a baby werewolf was too much work. That she wanted nothing to do with Geralt.

She had disapparated as abruptly as she had arrived, leaving nothing but a baby in a basket.

Neither Geralt nor Vesemir had had any contact with her since. Geralt hadn’t cared. He had enough family. What did he need with a woman who never wanted him?

But now she is _here_. She has come and found _him_. And from the way she was staring at him before the feast, she knows _exactly_ what she is doing.

Geralt doesn’t know what to do with that information.

Vesemir doesn’t say anything when he comes in. Geralt doesn’t say anything either, just stares up at the ceiling from where he is lying on his bed. He’s too big for it. Vesemir hadn’t seen any point in buying a new one after his last growth spurt. He’d be leaving Hogwarts come summer, going off into the world to do whatever it was that they hired werewolves to do. Probably something menial – he knew that most employers weren’t as accepting as Borch has always been.

The enchanted moon on the ceiling tells him that the moon is waxing, as if he needs reminding.

He won’t say anything until Vesemir does. Though, Geralt inherited his stubbornness off Vesemir, so to speak, so they could be here for a while.

It takes less time than he expected.

“I tried my best to get Borch to hire someone else.” Geralt just grunts in response. His eyes don’t leave the moon. There is precious little other decoration in the room. There never has been. “I swear it, Geralt. I didn’t tell you because I thought I’d stop her. She has no business being here, now. Not after all this time.”

Geralt wants to be angry at Vesemir for keeping this from him. He really does. But he’s so _tired_. He doesn’t reply, and Vesemir keeps talking.

“But Borch wouldn’t hear it. Probably meddling again, you know what he’s like. I –” His voice is softer than Geralt thinks he’s heard it since he was eight and they were trying to help Lambert settle in. “I should have _told_ you, Geralt. I’m sorry.”

Vesemir has never been one to apologise, unless it is truly warranted.

Geralt’s eyes shift over to his father. His only parent who ever counted. Vesemir is staring at a blank space on the wall. He looks older than he ever has before.

Vesemir starts a little when he notices Geralt looking at him, before, tentatively, resting a hand on the top of Geralt’s head, smoothing back his hair. This type of physical affection isn’t the way they tend to do things. But, Geralt supposes, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.

Geralt still doesn’t say anything. He feels all of five years old again, when he’d first heard Eskel talk about his mother, who had died in the same attack that left him with a scarred face and a lunar sickness, and asked Vesemir why _he_ didn’t have a mother. He was perhaps too young for Vesemir to tell the whole story to, but Vesemir had told him anyway.

Geralt had cried and cried at the thought that he wasn’t wanted, that no-one cared. It was one of the last time he had cried, and it was one of the last times Vesemir had gentled him like this.

He can’t cry now. He can’t, he _won’t_.

But why has Visenna suddenly decided that he’s _worth_ something? Why wasn’t he worth that before?

“Stay here tonight, Geralt,” Vesemir says eventually, standing up, “we’ll figure this out.”

Geralt darts out a hand to grab Vesemir’s before he moves to far away. He squeezes it. He doesn’t speak, but he thinks, he _hopes_ , that his father understands what he’s trying to say.

Geralt does not sleep well, that night. When he wakes up from what fitful sleep his does manage to grasp, he feels rotten, and he’s tempted to just go down to the kitchens and politely ask for something to eat for breakfast rather than join everyone else in the Great Hall.

He knows, though, that he needs to go. He needs to face the day, face his fellow students. He needs to see his brothers, who know the whole story and deserve to know why Vesemir hadn’t told them.

It’s still fairly early, especially for the first morning of term, so the hall isn’t too busy yet. Eskel and Lambert are already there, of course. Years’ worth of having early mornings drilled into you are hard to break. ~~~~

The fact that they’re surrounded by what looks like every other student who has ever been willing to talk to Geralt is considerably more surprising.

Jaskier, who has talked Geralt’s ear off a ridiculous number of times about how much he hates mornings, is squashed between Lambert and his friend Priscilla. Essi is sitting practically on top of Priscilla, talking to the new Hufflepuff from yesterday, who is sat across the table next to Ciri. The other Cintra sisters and their respective boyfriends are there as well, in fact, although Calanthe looks as though she would rather be anywhere else. Renfri is eating an apple, watching as Coën and Triss play exploding snap, while Yennefer, Aiden, and Eskel seem to be furiously whispering about something.

Geralt freezes when he sees them, all there as if they’re friends, even though he’s fairly certain that some of them had barely acknowledged each-others existence before. He wants to run and hide. He wants to not deal with this many people. He doesn’t understand why they’re all _there_.

He doesn’t get the chance, because Jaskier has seen him, and is running towards him before he gets the chance to leave.

He stops short, his hands darting forward as if he wants to squeeze his arm, pat his back, whatever tactile motions Jaskier likes to do to show his affection. But he doesn’t touch him, instead fluttering about like a nervous pigeon.

“I, Geralt, are you…” His voice is soft, worried, and no, Geralt is not going to deal with that.

“I guess Lambert owes you five sickles now, hmm?” He asks. Jaskier’s draw drops open, almost comically.

“ _Excuse_ me? The bet was that you’d get _involved_ in drama, not that you’d _cause_ it,” he says, with mock offence. “Alas, the bet is null and void.” He throws a hand dramatically across his brow, and it’s easy to pretend that nothing happened, that everything is normal. But then Geralt glances back over at the table, full of people who are now all staring at him, waiting for him.

Jaskier notices the direction he is looking, and smiles again. He reaches out, slowly, and grabs his hand, gently tugging it. “Come on. Everyone came for you, to see how you were doing. You can come tell them yourself.”

Geralt can feel his brow crease. He keeps looking between Jaskier and the group of people who are, apparently, waiting for him. “For me?”

“Yes, for you,” Jaskier says with a small, exasperated smile. “People _care_ about you Geralt. You’re not as unlovable as you like to think.”

And with that, he pulls him across the hall. Eskel and Lambert shift, and Jaskier all but pushes Geralt into the space between them, and then goes to lean against Priscilla and Essi.

“How are you doing this morning, Geralt?” It is Yennefer who breaks the silence, with a very non-Yennefer statement. She’s normally a lot more forthright and demanding. Clearly Geralt’s dramatic exit the last night made a significant impact.

“I… It’s… Visenna, she…” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words.

“We haven’t told them anything,” says Lambert, “it’s your story to tell.”

“But only if you want to!” pipes up Triss.

“Yeah, if you hate her, we hate her too, no questions asked.” That’s Renfri.

“You wouldn’t dislike someone for no reason. We trust you!” says Pavetta. Next to her, Calanthe nods at him, and, wow, Geralt was _not_ expecting that reaction from her.

The fact that they don’t want to know, that they don’t _need_ to know, that they care _anyway_ , makes it easier for Geralt to _tell_ them. So he builds up his courage, takes a deep breath, and he does.

It is little Ciri Cintra who is the first to react outwardly. She jumps up and runs round the table, and wraps Geralt in a hug.

“It’s ok. We’ll make sure she keeps away from you. Promise.” And then she’s gone again, back next to her sister, as if a hug was a normal thing to do to Geralt Rivia, the terrifying White Wolf.

Then everyone is talking, offering him support in making sure that Visenna’s original statement of having nothing to do with Geralt is kept.

It’s a lot. Geralt had never thought that he would ever have so many people determined to help him.

“You good?” Eskel asks, in his ear so no-one else can hear. Geralt shrugs slightly, but then nods.

“I think I will be.” And, surrounded by family, by friends, by people who care about him, he truly thinks he will.

**Author's Note:**

> A brief summary of what houses people are in, in case anyone's interested. Not all of these are mentioned in the fic, but I put varying amounts of thought into each of these, so I wanted to include them:
> 
>  **Hufflepuff**  
>  Head of house: Ermion Mousesack (herbology)  
> Geralt Rivia (7th year)  
> Eist Tuirseach (5th year)  
> Essi Daven (4th year)  
> Dara Wilson (1st year)
> 
>  **Slytherin**  
>  Head of house: Tissaia de Vries (charms)  
> Aiden von Katze (7th year)  
> Yennefer Vengerberg (6th year)  
> Fringilla Vigo (6th year)  
> Sabrina Glevissig (6th year)  
> Jaskier Pankratz (4th year)  
> Cahir aep Ceallach (2nd year)
> 
>  **Gryffindor**  
>  Head of house: Vesemir Rivia (DADA)  
> Lambert Rivia (7th year)  
> Coën Griffiths (7th year)  
> Renfri Creyden (5th year)  
> Calanthe Cintra (5th year)  
> Priscilla Callonetta (4th year)  
> Pavetta Cintra (3rd year)  
> Duny Erchion (3rd year)  
> Ciri Cintra (1st year)
> 
>  **Ravenclaw**  
>  Head of house: James Stregobor (potions)  
> Eskel Rivia (7th year)  
> Triss Merigold (6th year)  
> Istredd Gynvael (6th year)  
> Valdo Marx (4th year)


End file.
